MNCRFT HS CHNGD
by iamsolarflare
Summary: Something terrible has happened to Minecraftia, and it's not one of the things that's supposed to happen this time around. Both order and chaos are poised to destroy the world, and five people have found themselves hopelessly entangled in the land's struggle for five very different reasons.((Post-Transistor plot, T for body horror and cursing. True genre is cosmic horror.))
1. Entities: Whiteness

It was dusk on the plains again, that feared time of day when monsters rose up from nowhere and blackness slowly crept over the land. In the nearby village, testificates locked and barred the doors to their quaint wooden abodes, then crawled shivering with fear under tables and chairs to wait out the night.

Far above the town and out of sight, someone sat in midair with no means of support, watching the monsters rise up from nothing and tossing a fireball from hand to hand.

He was of average height, with slightly messy brown hair and pale skin, and was dressed simply in blue jeans and a loose turquoise shirt. By all accounts, he seemed normal, save for his eyes, those fell, blankly white and glowing orbs.

He was known mostly as the Netherlord, as due to his fearsome reputation few dared speak his name, but those who did dare knew him as Herobrine. The man was older than anyone else in the land, old enough that nobody knew from whence he came or why he torched villages and terrorized people - and yet he looked no more than thirty.

During this particular evening, he had been debating over whether or not to torch the village below him to the ground, but now a more interesting opportunity presented itself. Far in the distance, there was a small patch of abnormal light cast by whitish-grey metal.

He frowned, then flew a little ways towards the area. It appeared to be iron or a similar, unknown metal, and there were a few things moving around just out of sight within it.

Herobrine grinned, eyes sparkling nastily. "I wonder whose contraption this is... and how bad it might be if someone were to bust it up." He snapped his fingers, and a glowing diamond blade appeared in his right hand.

"Let's see here," he muttered, then vanished in a flash of light.

* * *

On closer inspection, the small odd area was made of a white metal that was definitely not iron, and the movements inside the area were in fact small, weird-looking creatures scuttling around like insects. Herobrine observed them for a few seconds, then summoned a fireball into his left hand and tossed it down at one of the smaller ones.

The explosion glanced off of the mechanical thing's plating like nothing had happened, and then every single creature simultaneously looked up at at the Netherlord, some walking closer with odd limbs and all of them turning to face him with the odd polished red orbs he could only assume passed as eyes.

He grinned, chose a multi-eyed and floating one - one with a vaguely feminine floating form - as his target, then hefted his blade and sliced at it.

It vanished from sight, and he turned around to find that it had teleported behind him, and in addition bore not even the smallest scratch from his direct hit.

He growled and charged at another, one whose three legs and spiked head made it resemble a pyramid, and sliced at it again. However, yet again the thing took no visible damage, and those eyes on the creatures began to look menacing.

Something hit him in the center of the back, and he hissed in pain. The feminine-figured one was firing on him, shooting rapid bursts of red energy at him. The rest of the enemies had turned too, and he now found himself under fire from all sides.

Herobrine's eyes burned brilliantly as he raised his left hand in a claw, intending to raise a legion of monsters from the ground, but nothing happened, as the white substance that the ground was comprised of seemed to be far too thick for anything to break though.

A strange feeling burnt at the center of his chest, and he realized he was scared - frightened half to death by these unflinching mechanical _things_ that took not even the slightest scratch from a heavily enchanted blade. Eyes wide in panic, he propelled himself up into the sky, but found himself being pulled back down again by some strange three-pronged laser beam emitted from one of the pyramidal creatures.

He clawed at the air frantically, trying to get away from the monsters, but to no avail - the air slipped through his fingers, and he began to fall. The beams of light drilled into his back, and his vision became blurred and unfocused, then blacked out altogether.

* * *

He remembered flashes of light and pain, and the feeling of clutching onto his sword for dear life, remembered those damned red orbs and something happening to his arm, but it seemed all like a dream.

He was somewhere else, definitely. Although the memories were blurry and dreamlike, the Netherlord thought he remembered finally remembering to teleport, and shaking off the monsters and doing so.

He took a deep breath and felt clean air enter his lungs, then opened his eyes and pushed himself up off of the ground into a sitting position.

He was in a birch forest somewhere, a peaceful place with poppies waving in the wind and clear pools of water. Safe. Secure. Daylight, but beggars couldn't be choosers and if the horrible things hadn't been a dream, safety was really the only thing that mattered.

Herobrine frowned - something felt different. It was his sword, he realized quickly, he hadn't let it go from his hand from the moment he summoned it back at the village and yet he was not holding it now. He looked over to his right, fully expecting to see it lying somewhere near him.

What he saw chilled him to the absolute core as he realized two things - that he had indeed not let go of his blade, and that the horrors from the night before were no delirious nightmare.

His arm, his right sword arm looked like those _things_. It was shining a dull whitish-blue, like the color of his trusty diamond sword mixed with the white metal of the creatures, and it had gaps where there once was skin and a large claw with one of those red eye-like things set into the center where his hand had once been.

He recoiled from his own arm, then stood up and rushed over to a pool of water and looked into it.

For the most part, he seemed normal, save for the fact that his right arm, the upper part of his right shoulder, the right part of his neck, and even a small amount of his chin had all been turned into whatever those things had been made out of.

The Netherlord flexed his clawed hand experimentally, realizing that for some reason it felt completely natural, then on a sudden impulse turned and swung it at a tree.

The claw suddenly rearranged itself, turning into something that looked faintly like his old blade and slicing clean through the birch tree as if it were paper. He stared at his own hand, already a claw once more, with sheer horror in his white eyes as the birch tree fell, crashing to the ground loudly.

He could hear something at the base of his mind as well, some faint whispering that sent shivers up his spine when he listened to it.

..._cl_n th_ w_rld th_ w_rld m_st b_ p_r_ m_st b_..._

"_No_!" he shouted, startling several birds and very briefly driving the voice away. He didn't talk to himself, not like this. Gloat, yes. Cower in fear? _Never._ He looked around for anything that would distract him from the mechanical-sounding voice drilling into his brain, and then in desperation hurled a fireball at a particularly large tree, engulfing it in flames instantly.

_...p_rg_ _t _ll t_ _ bl_nk sl_t_ Pr_c_ss _t _n_w th_ c_cl_ m_st..._

Trees fell harder and faster, the forest once idyllic now burning up. He couldn't let those things beat him, would not become one of them - because he, he was the lord of the Nether and the unkillable, the unbeatable, the terror of Minecraftia itself...

...And, for the first time in his life, he was _terrified_.

* * *

**((I love Transistor, I love Minecraft, and I've always wanted to try my hand at cosmic horror. Here, have a fic.**

**((Please review!**


	2. Entities: Cradle

Many things were annoying, Alex had mused to herself on the day everything had changed. Skeletons were annoying. The noises Endermen made were annoying. Bunnies that hopped on farmland and ruined it were annoying. Sneezes that wouldn't sneeze were annoying. Her brother acting like he knew everything was annoying.

Another annoying thing? The fact that a massive black monolith had appeared overnight in her backyard - _right on top of her carrots._

The redhead was not in a good mood, needless to say.

Alex was, as far as people went, one of those people who looked like they knew what they were doing. She was a little bit on the tall side, and she had green eyes, light skin, and light reddish-blonde hair that she tied up in a braid most of the time. She was also fairly muscular, since she handled mining, farming, and most physical work. This, combined with the fact that she walked around with a mysterious smile on her face often made her fairly intimidating.

Right now, however, that smile was not there, replaced instead with a scowl.

"Damnit, that was my _good_ crop," she muttered darkly.

She sighed, belted an iron sword to her side, and went out to check what remained of her crops.

* * *

As it turned out, her carrots weren't the only thing that had gone. A weird white metal had spread out from the monolith, overtaking most of her precious plants save for a few of the potatoes. Odd-looking red and white things were scuttling around in this area, drilling into the ground with lasers.

"Ugh, _creeps_. Bet this was Herobrine," she snapped altogether too loudly, storming towards the large pillar, which on closer examination was actually more reddish-black and made of many parts.

As she touched her hand to the pillar, one of the scuttling things turned towards her and shot its laser at her. She winced, then whipped around and hit it with her sword, which promptly shattered.

"Damnit!" she repeated. "The Nether are these things made of, bedrock?" The weird thing scuttled closer, and this time she whirled on her heel and executed a perfect roundhouse kick straight to the red orb in the thing's center.

The orb was displaced by the force of the blow, and the creature began to stagger about randomly. Clearly, she'd broken it.

Alex turned her attention back to the monolith, grabbed a slightly protruding edge, and began to clamber up the weird pillar.

-pagebreak-

The top of the pillar, as it turned out, was equally odd, glowing a sort of orange-red, It was flat on top, except for a small protrusion in the thing's center that, on closer inspection, appeared to be the handle and hilt of what was probably a very odd sword.

She crossed over to it and sat down in front of it, staring closely at it. "What in the world is going on?"

"...Red?"

A voice emanated from the weird hilt, one that sounded very tired, a bit masculine, and rather confused.

Alex, however, had already had her weirdness threshold crossed. Whatever or whoever this was, she wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of freaking out.

"Name's Alexandra Rex, actually."

"Mm," the voice replied. "Well then, Alexandra, how did you come across this place?"

She narrowed her eyes at the blade. "How did I come across it? Oh, I don't know. It only _landed in my backyard and ruined my crops_," she added, voice rising in pure fury.

"That doesn't make sense, does not make sense," the voice muttered. "Cloudbank is, well, it's gone. Nobody alive. Gone."

Alex laughed. "Yeah, well, you're not in Cloudbank. Bit lost, aren't you?"

"I, oh. I suppose that makes sense, that makes a lot of sense. But then, where, Alexandra, where might I be?"

"Minecraftia. Never heard of Cloudbank."

"No, no, I suppose you wouldn't have. Not seeing as I don't know your land."

There was a pause, a quiet moment during which neither of them spoke, and then Alex frowned.

"So what were those white and red things, anyways?"

She could hear something change in the man's voice as he responded. "White... things? No, oh no, that is _impossible_."

The farmer snorted. "Pfah! Tell that to the iron sword I shattered on one of those creeps."

"...How in the world... did you survive?"

"Well... I kicked it."

The sword sounded stunned. "You... kicked... it...? No, no, you're lying. Must be."

She leaned forwards. "Mm? And why'd that be?"

"Well, the Process - that's what they're called, the Process - they're tough. Very, very tough; evolved or more likely designed to be durable. They don't bend, they don't shatter... and, well, even the lowliest Badcell should be able to stand up to a _kick._"

Alex shrugged, despite being almost positive that the blade couldn't see her. "It was a strong kick. Now, you mind explaining why those things are here?"

"I... I don't quite know why they're here, but as long as they are... Listen."

"All ears, bud," she responded, crossing her legs in order to sit more comfortably.

"My name is Royce. Royce Bracket. And I... well, this... a lot of it is, partly, my fault."

"I am - no, was - from Cloudbank. Wonderful city, that place. But it changed, always changed. My associates and I, the four of us... we didn't like that. Because with so much change, nothing progressed. _When everything changes, nothing changes_... that was our motto."

"We used this - the Transistor, a star, a tomb, a weapon, a paintbrush - to slow the change. And as we did, as we did, the Process emerged."

"I installed limits on them, because, well, they scared me. They were alien, not robots. Efficiency incarnate, they did their job no matter what. Used the Transistor to control them. I thought so, at least."

Alex cocked her head to the side. "You... lost the Transistor, didn't you?"

"Mm. Yes. How _did _you...?"

"Genre tropes dictate."

She could practically _hear_ the confused frown on Royce's face as he responded. "...What?"

"Nothing. I assumed the worst, is all."

"Well then, you assumed right. Yes, we lost it to someone... and with it, we lost control over the Process."

"As it turns out, in a horrid twist of fate, the Process did have original orders. To _reset_. Wipe everything out, make the world a blank canvas. And so they did, and Cloudbank was lost."

"Now you're here, and they're out, and I... do not know, cannot fathom why."

"Do me a favor."

Alex nodded solemnly. "Sure."

"...Pick up the Transistor. Wipe out the Process... and perhaps, if you find the means, could you...?"

"Help to rebuild Cloudbank? I'll try." The farmer stood up, brushed imaginary dirt off of her pants, and grabbed the strange hilt.

It slid out easily, a long and wide turquoise blade at least two thirds her size, with gold highlights and a red - was that an eye? - in the center.

"It's _beautiful_," she whispered, gently turning it over in her hands. "And _light_, too."

"...Funny. I always recall its having been a bit hefty," Royce noted. The red orb in the center glowed as he spoke.

"Well, maybe I'm a bit on the strong side," she noted with a smile, tossing the Transistor up into the air and catching it easily. "You better teach me how to use this, Royce."

"Of course."

"Well then." She turned towards the horizon. "We'd better get started."

* * *

**((Heeeeeeere's Royce! Precious Royce. Maybe I'll have him do a disclaimer for me.**

**((Also Alex. Alex is here too.**

**((Alternate chapter titles for last time:**

**((Herobrine May be Powerful, But He's Also A Dumbass/We Apologize For The Hive-Minded, World-Wiping Inconvenience**

**((Please review! Steve's coming up next chapter. *evil cackle***


	3. Entities: Hallways

Herobrine's fortress was utterly imposing. The whole of it looked less like a castle, and more like an intricate Gothic cathedral, were cathedrals to have lava pouring around everywhere. It was made of dark bricks, sharp fences, eerily glowing stalactites and stalagmites of some naturally golden mineral poking from places, and entire hallways of the purest, whitest quartz - and to boot, all of it was located in Hell itself.

Not that the place's sole prisoner cared for architecture.

He paced his cell, occasionally rummaging through the bag slung across his shoulder, constantly speaking to himself as he strode.

"It's been exactly, what... five days? Yes -" here he checked some odd system he'd put together in the corner, made mostly of two empty potion bottles and a handful of soul sand he had found in the corner of his cell "- Five. He should be here by now, to taunt me."

"Silent treatment, perhaps? Maybe he wants me to go insane?"

The man bent over with laughter. "Pffahaha! Who am I kidding? He's not smart enough for those kinds of tactics! No, he's gone and forgotten me, is all."

"Which of course, means, I can put together..."

He sat down, and began to look through his bag quickly, occasionally taking things out.

"Potion of harming - potion of poison - empty bottle - empty bottle - potion of fire resistance - flint and steel - empty bottle - redstone - gunpowder."

The man grinned, then cracked his knuckles. "Oh _boy_. This is going to be _loud_."

He laid out the system with the practiced air of someone who had no specific idea what they were doing, but generally knew how to make things happen.

Steve put together the redstone and gunpowder first, shaking the mixture in one of the three empty bottles until it was a dusty brown throughout, then carefully laid out a line of the substance from the door to a clean cell corner.

Having done that, he carefully poured the potion of fire resistance onto the bars in the cell, making sure some of it touched the line of gunpowder and redstone.

The next part was going to need to be done fast. He uncorked both the potion of harming and poison, then held the bottles together and mixed them vigorously. Sure enough, the liquids began to boil. He didn't have much time.

He placed both bottles down near the bars, letting them leak out, then retreated hastily to the corner where the dust trail had been set and let a single spark from the flint and steel catch the mixture alight.

He cleared his throat and began to speak again, pretending he was telling his sister how the system worked.

"Gunpowder's flammable, redstone burns in a controlled manner. By the time they get there, the harming and poison potions will have reacted with each other to form a rather volatile gas."

"The gas still needs flame, though, and that's where the potion of fire resistance comes in. Remember, that stuff works by being so damn reactive to fire that the flames burn out before they can actually get to whatever they'd normally be burning."

Steve grinned as the burning part of the redstone and gunpowder crept closer to the puddle of fire resistance potion.

"I bet you can figure out what fire and volatile gas makes on your own," he added, clapping his hands over his ears.

The explosion was absolutely deafening, even with his ears stopped up as much as they possibly could be. It physically shook the ground beneath him, and a wave of shock from the explosion slammed him into the wall as the bars simply ceased to exist and turned into little more than fuel.

He groaned, tugging at one of his earlobes. "Ah, crap. Think I busted an eardrum. Maybe both."

The man rummaged through his bag again, picked out a large bottle half full of reddish-pink liquid, and took a small sip.

Steve winced as the potion took effect, making both his ears pop as if he had just climbed to a great height.

He stood up, brushing the brick dust of his clothes, and then laughed brightly.

"_Hahaha!_ Oh man, imagine the Netherlord's face when he sees _this_ mess! Of course, I'll have found a way to beat him by then, I'm sure."

Pinching his nose to keep himself from inhaling the remaining fumes, he rushed through the scorched opening and out into the hallways of the fortress.

* * *

A zombie pigman swung its golden sword at Steve as he poked his head around a corner, and he ducked.

"Whup! No you don't." He aimed a kick at the walking corpse's shin, knocking it over onto its face.

The mob's weapon clattered across the ground, and he scrambled aside quickly to pick it up. The blade was heavy in his hand, and not very sharp, but it definitely worked well enough to decapitate the pigman though sheer force.

"Cavalry sword, probably," he muttered. "Although what these guys rode is beyond me, these things are weighted _perfectly_ for the separation of limbs and other, similar vital things from someone's torso at sufficient speeds."

He grinned again. "I _love_ it."

The former prisoner paused and looked out a window, eyes flicking quickly across the landscape as if scanning. He then turned back to the hallway and waited, arms crossed and sword loosely in hand, tapping his right foot.

"Those guards are going to come from somewhere," he muttered.

As if by magic - or, more likely, high alert - a swarm of pigmen turned one of the corners and pointed at him with grunts and glares.

Steve raised an eyebrow, then reached into his bag and took out a small vial of light blue liquid. He took a step back, eyes darting from guard to guard, and bit down on the cork, pulling it out with his teeth.

The guards were moving towards him unusually slowly. Mind you, zombies of any kind were not particularly fast, so that was part of it - the other part was that the blue potion had taken effect and the man was now as swift as a skeleton's shot.

He held the sword out perfectly parallel to the, right arm crossing his torso, then charged at the guards.

One of them made a futile stab at him, and he swung the gold blade in a wide arc, slamming the enemies back against walls with the force of the blow. Steve didn't stop to finish them this time, as he had somewhere to be going.

That somewhere was down the hall, hopefully to the place where he could do the most damage to Herobrine and his army. After all, the guards running at him had to be coming from some integral part of the fortress.

At the very end of the hall, however, was an open bridge. Several strange things that looked a bit like jellyfish with facial patterns were busy breaking apart the way to the other side with explosions.

He didn't slow down in the slightest, instead picking up speed and launching himself across the gap, skidding to a stop on the other side as the potion wore off just in time.

His pursuers hopefully shaken off, Steve looked around the new hallway. As he'd predicted, there was a rather intricate-looking door off to one side that could only be Herobrine's throne room, or at least something similar.

He pushed the door open softly and poked his head in.

As it turned out, the area where the Netherlord spent most of his time appeared to be a sort of library or office. There were bookshelves on the walls, their tomes and pages scattered across the room. There was also a dark oak desk of some sort facing out towards the Nether, and this is what Steve headed towards.

On the desk was a diamond helmet glittering with some kind of enchantment, which the man immediately picked up and fitted to his head, pulling it slightly over his eyes so that the glow from the helm might make him look a bit like the Netherlord.

He then rummaged through the desk drawers, reading over Herobrine's notes, or whatever the papers everywhere were.

Most of the things were rather cohesive, saying one thing and then contradicting themselves almost immediately and it was immediately clear to Steve that the Netherlord was in some kind of confused state when the papers had been written.

"There's a weakness here somewhere," he muttered, then returned to the desk and opened a new drawer.

Atop the pile of papers was a single loose leaf that looked like it'd been torn out of a book. There were words on the paper, of course, but what was particularly interesting was the fact that the words "DO NOT READ THESE" had been scrawled across the aforementioned page in large, shaky handwriting.

Steve smiled at the paper in his hand, shaking his head slowly. "Bingo."

He dug into the pile of papers and pulled out the bottom page, then blinked and stared at the paper for what felt like an exceedingly long time.

The contents of the paper weren't too interesting; it appeared to be a drawing of the desk in front of him with an arrow pointing towards one of the knobs. Below that, though, the word "Herobrine" was written several times in what was undeniably Steve's own handwriting.

"I don't remember writing this," he muttered, this time in an even lower and quieter tone. "I definitely did _not_ write this," he added.

He cautiously twisted the desk knob indicated on the drawing, and jumped back as something fell to the floor from the underside of the desk with a loud THUMP.

It was a thick but small book with a leather cover, with a piece of loose paper that didn't look like part of the book stuck to the front of it. Before he could read it, however, someone burst through the door.

Steve hastily shoved the tome in his bag, then pulled the helmet down slightly on his face and hefted the sword in his hand as a pigman came through the door.

"Sir!"

The helmet ruse had worked, because it was clear that the zombie thought he was actually Herobrine. Now he just had to remember how the Netherlord acted...

Steve drew himself up, standing as straight as he could, then glared at the monster. "The hell do you want?" he snapped, crossing his arms.

The zombie pigman flinched. "Sir, one of the prisoner's cells exploded - probably a Ghast - and it's activated the emergency defense mechanism."

He tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. "Remind me what this is again?"

Its eyes darted back and forth. "Uh, the Wither. The Wither's got loose."

He made a sound that hopefully resembled an annoyed grumble. "I'll take care of it. Get me something to fly on."

The pigman sounded shocked. "You're going _ghast-riding_? But sir, you can fly on your own."

Steve flipped the cavalry sword in his hand, catching it effortlessly, then pointed it at the pigman. "Implying I don't have a plan in place? Unwise." He then swung the sword back down the hallway. "Get me a suitable ride, and do it quickly before I decide you're expendable."

The monster turned and ran immediately, and Steve sat down in the chair and sighed.

"Right, Herobrine can fly. Forgot about that minor detail. Now let's see what I have that can mimic this..."

* * *

**((Steve. No. Stop.**

**((Alternate humorous titles for last chapter:**

**((and screw this patch of plants in particular/a better roundhouse than chuck norris could ever hope to dream of**

**((Please review if you enjoyed!**


	4. Entities: Truce

Herobrine's head still hurt like... he was tempted to say Hell, but he honestly was _longing_ to return to the Nether at this point.

He'd always gone from place to place without any specific idea of where he was headed, but recently he found himself not even having a general idea of what he was doing. He'd been catching himself spacing out and waking up again miles from where he started, with nothing but whiteness behind him.

To say he was afraid was no longer unthinkable. It was, instead, a grave understatement.

He rubbed his temples, then ran a hand over his chin.

"Notch above, I need a shave," he muttered, then froze as his fingers touched solid, cold metal.

Whatever his claw was made out of, it was spreading further along his body. The metal now took up about half of his neck and chin, and was beginning to reach up the right side of his face and down his chest.

He flexed the claw again, watching each small piece of white metal move around the large red orb that had replaced the palm of his hand, and let out a small huff of breath.

The voices of the white metal had been murmuring in his head for a while now, but for the most part he'd managed to ignore them. He'd had some amount of practice ignoring voices before, although those were passive and these ones were more aggressive.

An idea came to him quite suddenly, and he raised an eyebrow at the sheer simplicity of it. Talking to the old speakers had never done any good, but with this much of a difference between the old and the new, it certainly couldn't hurt to try.

"...Are you there?" he asked to the empty air, words echoing quietly around him.

_th_r_?_

_w_'v_ b_n h_r_, w_ ar_ h_r_, w_'ll b_ h_r__

_wh_r_ hav_ y_ b_n?_

The voice he heard was definitely a lot more focused than before, and a lot more singular-sounding than the constant murmur he was used to. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, then spoke back to whoever it was talking to him.

"I've been here too. Who or what are you?"

_w_ _r_ th_ Pr_c_ss, th_ Pr_c_ss, th_-_

_-i am Syb_l R_isz_

"Sybl," Herobrine responded. "Oh, of course, your name is _Sybil_. It's... a nice name," he added awkwardly. Conversation was not something he'd focused on in the past, to say the least.

_it s_rv_s its p_rpos_, _v_rything has a p_rpos_, nam_s ar_ j_st for id_ntification_

__v_rything has a nam_ so do yo_ hav_ a nam_ as w_ll?_

"I... yeah. Yes, I do. It's Herobrine."

_what do_s yo_r nam_ m_an, H_robrin_?_

"...What does it mean?"

__v_ry nam_ has a m_aning - _ach and _v_ry nam_ has a m_aning - so what do_s y_urs m_an?_

"Well." He sat down on the ground, crossing his legs and staring down at the red eye in his claw-hand. "That's not something I know."

_yo_ don't know?_

_why not? how can yo_ know th_ v_ry thing yo_'r_ call_d and not why yo_'r_ call_d it?_

"It's not something I need to know," he responded quietly. "It's just never something I've needed to think about."

He could have sworn that the robotic and unfeeling voice of Sybil sounded faintly exasperated when it spoke once more.

_nam_s d_t_rmin_ _v_rything abo_t who w_ ar__

_and som_how still yo_ say that th_y'r_ not important_

He raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you just say they were only for identification? Or is that old news?"

_nam_s id_ntify o_r s_lf and who w_ ar_ in th_ world_

_a Sybil is a proph_t_ss, a comm_nicator from mortal to immortal_

_j_st as i hav_ b_n chos_n to bridg_ th_ gap b_tw_n fl_sh and Proc_ss_

_why can yo_ not s_ this why will yo_ not acknowl_dg_ this wh_n will yo_ r_aliz__

"So then, you're saying that a name determines who you are?" Herobrine sighed. "Wait, you did just say that."

_y_s_

"Okay then, I have an important question to ask you." He closed his eyes and spoke through gritted teeth in a low and urgent tone.

"What is the function of an Alex? And of a Steve?"

_an Al_x prot_cts h_mankind, th_ir own fl_sh and blood b_t oth_rs b_sid_s_

_a St_v_?_

_i... sho_ld not say._

"Why _not_?" he snapped, eyes opening suddenly and blazing with white light. "The man who bears that name is the _only person_ who has _ever_ stood in my way, up until when I captured him. I'm stuck with you things anyways. _Tell me._"

_no_

_it wo_ld not b_ wis__

He stared down at the ground for several seconds before silently and almost clinically wrapping his fingers around the large red orb in his right hand. He struggled to find a surface to hold on to, then gave up and began pulling smaller pieces of white metal out of his claw-arm, tossing them aside like bits of useless debris.

_what ar_ yo_ doing?_

Sybil didn't seem too upset with him. He figured that would change sooner or later, so he continued working away at his arm.

_H_robrin__

_what ar_ yo_ doing?_

"I'm," he muttered through a grimace as he attempted to tear out a rather large piece of the arm, "_negotiating_ with you _things_."

_yo_'r_ p_lling o_t pi_c_s of yo_r arm_

"Yeah, and you want me _whole_, don't you!" Herobrine growled. The piece came out, and he tossed it away angrily. "So tell me _what_ his name means, and _why _you won't tell me, or I will _systematically tear out every single piece of the Process in my body_."

_that's only going to h_rt yo_, yo_ know_

"Do I seem like I _care_?"

_y_s_

_th_ r_ason yo_ spok_ to m_ is b_ca_s_ yo_ don't want to di__

_th_ r_ason yo_ ask_d for th_ m_anings of thos_ nam_s _

_is b_ca_s_ it incr_as_s yo_r lik_lihood of s_rviving_

_yo_ don't want to do this and yo_ know it_

His hand froze around the next piece, and he tried to move it but failed.

"...Are you controlling my arm now?"

_no. yo_'r_ doing that_

_som_wh_r_ in yo_r mind yo_ know i'm right_

_and that part of yo_ has c_as_d this pointl_ss s_lf harm_

_that's how fl_sh works yo_ know_

He pursed his lips and was silent for a long time, staring out at the world around him. Nothing caught his eye as being particularly interesting - all around him was nothing but fields of grass, with not even the occasional patch of Process to provide variety in the scenery.

"How long?" he finally asked, staring at his half-dismantled claw and flexing the fingers on it. It hung by only one or two pieces now, but was still perfectly functional from what he could tell.

_how long _ntil what?_

"Until you kill me. How long do I have before the Process takes over my entire body?"

_w_ll_

_i don't know_

_it was v_ry fast for m_, fast_r alr_ady than yo_r Proc_ssing_

_b_t th_n again, i gav_ in_

_so i can't say_

Herobrine sighed, still staring down at his claw. "But probably not more than a week, yes?"

_probably not that long_

_i tak_ it yo_ hav_ _nfinish_d b_sin_ss_

"Yeah," he responded, pushing himself up off the ground and clenching both his fists. "I do. And with your help, Sybil..."

_with th_ h_lp of the Proc_ss?_

"...With the help of the Process, I think I can finally finish it before I die."

* * *

**((Wow, hey. I'm back.**

**Here are your alternate humorous titles for last chapter:**

**\- steve, no**

**\- the mythbusters called and they'd like to hire you**

**Have a nice day, and review if you can!))**


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